Screw Ups
by Writergel
Summary: "All threats of imminent doom aside, this really is another fine mess you've gotten us into." "Okay, I agree on that one. What number are we up to now?" "Since we arrived on Earth, 247." "Really? I thought it was more than that."


**Hey, it's Writergurl616, writing for the Transformers fanfiction at last! Well, considering how often I lurk around in here, I figured I should probably contribute **_**something**_**. Granted, it's a goofy oneshot, but still. : P**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers (I wish!), and partial credit for this piece goes to Greenapplefreak on Deviantart, for the artwork that inspired this, entitled, "Perceptor not Amused"**

"Normal talk"

**: Commlink talk:**

Screw Ups

"This is officially your worst experiment ever." Wheeljack turned to blink his optics at his friend in disbelief.

"Really, Perceptor? I don't think it's that bad."

"Not that bad? _Not that bad, Wheeljack?_ Do you even _see _us? When the others see, the odds are very high it is going to incredibly mortifying!"

"Well, yeah, but . . . if you think about it Percy, we could've actually had it a lot worse. We could've ended up in pieces, or our component parts could have simply dissolved instead of reformatting themselves."

"All threats of imminent doom aside," Perceptor crossed his arms over his now significantly more prominent chestplate, "This really is another fine mess your inventions have gotten us into, Wheeljack."

"Alright I agree on that one." Wheeljack conceded, "What number are we up to now?"

"Since we arrived on Earth," Perceptor checked a datapad in his subspace, "Two hundred and forty-seven."

"Really? I thought it was more than that."

"Oh, I'm sure there are more, Wheeljack. These are just the incidents I've managed to mark down. And for the record, I am still mad at you."

"Aww, come on Percy," Wheeljack pleaded, "If you think about it, it's actually kinda funny!"

"Examine my visage, Wheeljack. _I am not amused_." A few minutes passed in awkward silence.

"So, erm . . ." Wheeljack shuffled his new, smaller pedes sheepishly, "D'ya think we should call Ratchet now?" Perceptor sighed.

"As he has the greatest chance of reversing our predicament, go ahead."

**: Hey Ratchet: **The medic drew his attention away from the tools he was cleaning as he received the communiqué from Wheeljack.

**: What exploded and how many pieces are you in?: **Was Ratchet's way of greeting.

**: Well, it didn't **_**explode**_**, per se, and neither me nor Perceptor are missing any parts:**

**: Then why the slag are you calling me, Jack? And what's wrong with your voice?:**

**: Well, my voice is actually part of why I'm calling ya, Ratch'. While the device I was working on didn't explode-:**

**: Thank Primus for miracles: **Ratchet teased his friend,

**: It **_**did **_**malfunction, and me an' Perceptor are in a bit of a predicament:**

**: What kind of predicament?:**

**: The embarrassing kind: **And Wheeljack shut off the link before Ratchet could get the inventor to tell him any more. Grumbling slightly, Ratchet tread the path he knew he knew by heart, if nothing else than because of the sheer number of times he had to use it, through the Ark's hallways and down to Wheeljack's lab, mentally guessing just what this 'embarrassing predicament' was. When he reached the lab, however, and saw what had befallen his two friends, Ratchet almost immediately collapsed in the doorway, laughing hysterically.

"_It's not funny!"_ Perceptor shouted, mortified. Ratchet continued to laugh. Perceptor buried his face in his hands and Wheeljack simply stood there looking uncomfortable.

"What's going on in here?" Came Prowl's even, slightly exasperated voice came from a little further down the hallway. Like Ratchet (who's laughter had thankfully subsided), Prowl had come to investigate Wheeljack's lab, and like Ratchet, he didn't make it past the doorway. Once catching sight of the two Autobots within, Prowl shuttered his optics, left them that way for several drawn-out seconds, then unshuttered them again. Nope, the scene in front of him had not changed. Within a few moments the tactician began to smoke at the helm, and promptly collapsed on top of Ratchet, twitching slightly. After a few minutes of awkward silence (and after Ratchet got Prowl off him), Wheeljack spoke tentatively;

"Well it's not like we didn't think this was gonna happen. I mean, walking into a room, expecting to find your mech comrades, and seeing them as femmes instead can probably throw your logic processor for a real loop, can't it?"

-Fin-


End file.
